


The Second Sunday In May

by WeBuiltThePyramids



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeBuiltThePyramids/pseuds/WeBuiltThePyramids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Quinn has never liked Mother's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Sunday In May

_Happy Mother's Day._

She has to deal with it every year. The commercials on TV, the billboard ads, the decorations in every store – even the body shop in Malibu has a special. She sees them all – young children learn how to read their name early on, and every one of these advertisements and cards has her name right on them, usually in big, attention grabbing font. She hears every greeting in every crowd and for a moment, each time, she thinks someone is talking to her.

But they never are. _Happy_ is always followed by _Mother's Day_.

That day doesn't apply to her. She doesn't have a mother. She's never had a mother. The start of Happy's life had been the end of Grace's.

Mother's Day is anything but happy.

She's only four, but she already judges the other kids for sucking their thumbs. She doesn't realize she still does it herself when she's not able to use her toolbox as a means of comfort.

There's a little Jewish girl back at the orphanage, Ilse. At Christmas time, she watches the rest of them talk about presents, and Santa, and reindeer and tinsel and grows quiet. Happy has never had a Christmas present, but at least the holiday is hers.

She thinks about Ilse now, on Mother's Day, and it might be the first time Happy understands how someone feels.

Her current foster home is one she shares with three older children, all the biological offspring of the adults in the home. Every other child in the house gets to celebrate Mother's Day.

She lowers her head, following the older kids through the store, overstimulated by the bombardment of celebratory items, feeling even more disconnected than usual from the rest of the world.

* * *

She throws the tin can up in the air and swings her wrench forcefully. It makes solid contact, sailing over the fence into Elaine's yard. She figures she's a teenager now, she can act out to show her frustration. It's only what's expected of a thirteen year old kid in the system.

" _Never again, Happy. You're not going back."_

" _That's what they all say. Forgive me if I can't believe you that easily."_

" _I know your other foster mothers hurt you. But I won't. I'm the last one, do you hear me, darling?"_

Bull. Shit.

"Happy," snaps one of the men sent to retrieve her. "Behave yourself." He grabs her wrench and stuffs it in her backpack.

"It's Mother's Day," she says loudly, angrily, pointing back at the house. "And she promised that she'd be my mother. And now I'm going back to your stupid system, _on Mother's Day._ Do you people fail to see the irony in that?"

There are tears in her eyes and she hates that almost as much as she hates going back. It's not like Elaine is overly loving or overly attentive, but...

Happy shakes her head. It doesn't really surprise her that Elaine is breaking her promise. That's all people ever do.

She's angry at herself. She knows people will always let her down. She shouldn't allow herself to believe. She should know by now that Mother's Day will always be a day of hurt. It's best to just forget that the day exists.

Except she can't. In the fifteen mile drive, as she sits in the backseat, her head against the window even though she feels every bump in the road, she sees at least ten Mother's Day ads.

All of them begin with her name.

* * *

"Happy Mother's Day."

She rolls onto her back, squinting, still drowsy. "Huh?"

Toby is standing in the doorway, a tray in his hand and a grin on his face. He is not wearing his hat. "I made you breakfast in bed," he says, cheerfully. "For Mother's Day."

"But I'm not a mother."

"Hey," Toby says, walking to the bed and setting the tray down on her knees as she shuffles up into a sitting position. "You could be."

"Odds aren't good." They haven't even been trying long enough for her to miss a cycle, or even to take a reliable test. Toby is lucky that she doesn't believe in jinxes, because she would be shouting at him right about now.

"You are," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting a hand in her hair. "I believe it."

She smiles. "We can't simply _will_ a baby into existence, doc. Believing we've already succeeded does not increase the chances."

"No, but eat." He gestures excitedly to the waffles. "I even put the confectioner sugar on it, see?"

He is very proud of himself. "Yes, I see that." She takes the fork and cuts a piece. It tastes good. She's been thinking about waffles a lot the past few days. Of course, even if they have been immediately successful it's too soon to be having cravings, but...

But maybe this _is_ her first Mother's Day. Maybe this year will be remembered as the first Mother's Day that brought her joy.

Toby's optimism is sometimes annoying. Today, it fills her with hope, with belief, something she's been swearing off for years. She shovels the waffles into her mouth – she really ought to, she reasons.

She may be eating for two. It's certainly possible.

* * *

Happy simply cannot get over how captivated Meg is with the mirror.

The pediatrician tells them that babies are fascinated with faces, be it their own or someone else's, but it's still amusing to the mechanic, how her daughter's eyes light up when she's set down on her belly in front of the full length mirror in her parents' bedroom. "Ooooh," she says excitedly, reaching a tiny hand out toward the magical other baby in the glass.

"Do you see that baby?" Happy asks. She drops down on all fours and lowers her head to be even with the infant. "That's you!"

Meg laughs, kicking her feet. Happy has no idea what's so funny. But the little laugh has quickly become her favorite sound.

She supposes that her daughter's laugh being her favorite sound might be considered cliché. Happy doesn't like being cliché. Walter and Toby do a swell job of it, Team Scorpion doesn't need any more sappy, overused declarations.

Well, she thinks, too bad. Nothing makes her feel the way she does when Meg laughs.

Happy lowers herself down to rest on her stomach and folds her arms under her cheek as she watches the three month old engage with her reflection. She doesn't realize her husband has entered the room until he eases down beside her.

"Hey," she says in greeting, tearing her eyes away from the little one and resting her other cheek on her arms as she regards Toby.

He smiles, glancing at the baby, then puts a hand on the small of her back, looking into her eyes. "Happy Mother's Day."

He slides something over to her, and she looks down. It's a card.

The first word she sees is her name.

She smiles.

Everything is perfect.


End file.
